The Glass Mirror
by Musether
Summary: The Glass Mirror is a creative, original story that received an A in GCSE English.


The Glass Mirror

_By Matthew Heath_

The rider hurried through the forest, tangling vines ensnaring his horse's feet as he trotted down the overgrown muddy path, worn away by generations of riders and horses. Slivers of sunlight penetrated the undergrowth, illuminating things here and there; a vibrant emerald leaf, a gnarled, hump-backed tree, raindrops glinting on the ground like miniature diamonds amongst the mixture of moss, dead rot and stones sprinkled with mud after the day's heavy rainfall.

A warbling hoot from a far-away bird flew through the forest. The rider paused, listened hard and then glanced at the tightly sealed package he clutched in his left hand. Although mainly non-descript; a sort of bland brown, a shiny red seal, still hot from the press, glinted in the small beam of sunlight that the rider has paused in. His horse, a black stallion, snorted, attempted to break free of the rider's tight grip on the reins.

He pondered the reasons he'd ever chosen to embark on this mission. His mother was slowly dying. He recalled seeing her ashen face from the leaded window of the manor as he'd ridden away from Thulgrund, his native town, with an escort of five armed men. Unfortunately, the men were forced to go separate ways; each assigned a city to deliver their package. Bitterly, he cursed the God of Law, Sheogorath, for ever choosing him, a lowly peasant to embark on this mission through the act of placing the thought in Lord Davrik's head.

Anger seethed through his mind, and he pulled the reins sharply as the horse began to move, resulting in a whinny of pain. He carefully tucked the package back into the pocket of his tunic and hurried on. Further down the path, he encountered a fork in the road. "Left or right?" he mused to himself, before eventually taking the right-side path, one that appeared less-travelled, as he hoped it would get him to the capital city; Glyddia, quickly.

Eventually, the rider slowed down the pace as the horse flicked its tail irritably to swat away the flies hovering around it. The burning mid-day sun bore down upon the cloaked rider, the black hood absorbing the heat. "If only someone had offered me a white robe." The rider muttered, frustrated at his choice of clothes, to himself. "Instead, they make me wear these cursed robes for the purposes of 'security'". After many hours, the end of the forest rode into view; marked by the blaze of sanguine-streaked sky and the inviting, lush green hills now coloured a dull red.

Abruptly, his horse panted suddenly, practically choked with dehydration. Inwardly, Merlinus, for that was the name of the rider, cursed the Gods for providing him with such an untameable brute, and no water-skin bags. Cautiously, both rider and horse trotted out of the forest and onto the more welcoming dirt road.

Dusk turned to night.

After a great deal of searching, down side-roads and through hedges, Merlinus eventually found a small house, nestled between a gigantic forest, presumably the one he'd come out of a few hours ago, and a large black disc, which he supposed was a lake of some sort, lacking any means of positively identifying it in the meagre twilight that had now descended from the heavens.

The house itself, now that he paused to look at it, had a … odd air about it. While it was in no better state than many of the cottages back in his native town, it absolutely reeked of something strong. "The only reason I stopped here was to get shelter for the night." He continuously reminded himself as he disembarked from his horse and warily edged round the building, examining all to ensure he would be safe for the night.

The house was built of once-sturdy grey slabs of stone, scored by the winds, dark green moss obscuring much of the slabs of stone at ground level. The windows were dark and the wood was warped, rotting in the very frame it had been placed in. Small shards of glass littered the ground, victims of the interchangeable periods of very hot, followed by very cold weather in these parts. What he supposed was once a door, was missing the door itself, leading into a black vortex of nothingness.

Snap. Crack. Shuffle.

The rider whirled round, all senses now on full alert. Nothing there. He sighed visibly and continued on his 'tour of inspection'. Somewhere ahead, a source of light could be seen. Unsure as to what it could be, Merlinus grabbed the holster of his trusty sword and with his right hand on the hilt of the sword, he threw himself round the corner, encountering nothing but a dying fire, built from the dead rot of the nearby forest and pieces of papyrus. The rider slowly sunk to his knees in visible appreciation at the fire, now completely focused on absorbing the much-needed heat from the fire on the ever-increasingly cold night wind now whistling round the area.

"What does we have here?" Out of the shadows limped a short, balding man who grinned at Merlinus with all of his teeth, which were to say, none. Cackling, he approached the fire and slowly positioned himself on the grass next to the rider, his very bones creaking in their joints. The man glanced at the sword, carelessly abandoned just five paces away from him. "Worry not, worry not. I means no harm." He said, managing to sound coherent even with the loss of his teeth.

"We've been here a whiles now, ain't we? After we was attacked by the Murajah, not five half-miles from here. We was lucky to escape, wasn't we, me poppet?" The last remark, the old man directed to what appeared to be a small onyx statue of a dragon. Merlinus just snorted and removed his hood for the first time since leaving Thulgrund. He was a thick-set man, with blue-green eyes and brown hair. He had a look about him that was humble, yet powerful at the same time.

For a few moments, there was complete silence. Until it was broken by the sound of chanting coming from where Merlinus had tied his horse up. He leapt to his feet. The old man glanced at him, interest glinting in his eyes. Abruptly, the old man flew up also, seemingly more versatile than Merlinus had first suspected.

Together, they grabbed their respective weapons; Merlinus, his sword, and the old man, a small stick propped against the wall.

Hiss. Clang. Screech.

The sound of a fierce battle could be heard from somewhere nearby, as the two men sprinted to where the sound originated from. They were met with … nothing when they arrived at the area. Silence, broken only by the odd hoot of an owl from the woods, reigned in the night. Just as they were turning back to head to the campfire once more, they saw it.

A tall, brooding dark figure lingered at the edge of the shadows formed by the house. It snorted, and then charged forwards, faster than they could move. Its skin was red and shiny, marked with intricate symbols in blue ink. Two green horns scraped against each other as it charged at the two men, bull's hooves trampling the ground into a muddy battlefield.

"We want what ye have! We want what was rightfully ours!" Several voices emanated from the charging monstrosity, some melodious, others gentle, and still some sharp and grating. The old man flinched and turned pasty white, as the rider drew his sword and with an indescribable bellow, ran at the monster.

He ran to his doom.

Easily, the thing dodged Merlinus' feeble attempt to slay it, and gored him with its horns, before turning to the old man. Unbeknownst to the both of them, the package that the rider had been carrying flew out of his tunic pocket and bounced several times on the ground, before eventually landing on the road, waiting for someone to pick it up.

The old man fared no better, for no sooner had he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, hand-held object, than the monster had sliced his stomach open with one deft swipe of a razor-sharp claw. His intestines fell out, the old man dropped to the ground with a gargle and died almost instantly. Almost as quickly as it had appeared, the beast disappeared.

Several days later.

In a city far away by the sea, a pale hand threw a small object out of the window of a tall tower. Catching the last rays of the sun, the gilded object spun down towards the mass of human life. The cluster of gems sparkled ferociously as the small mirror spiralled down towards the ground, before hitting the hard cobblestones, with the resounding firmness of intricately-wrought glass shattering into a million separate shards, a million strands of life.

- 4 -


End file.
